Fern crouched over a bubbling mixture suspended over a wax candle with a stick and piece of bent wire. Despite the hardships of home life, Fern wanted to be an alchemist, and he had finally managed to scrape enough coins to try brewing a potion. If he succeeded, he could turn a profit and try again. If he failed, well, he at least had his "mixing jar" which was an expensive piece of low-grade magical glass that could be used for some basic alchemical recipes.

  Inside the vial was a mixture of materials -- Crushed slime core provided a base. Alder bark provided a concept. And there were a small handful of reagents, binders, and catalysts. Fern was on the final step, and he was just waiting for the mixture to turn from an unsettling green to a daffodil yellow. 38 seconds passed and he watched the mixture shift. He instantly tore it off the heat and swirled the beaker in a pot of cool water. He grimaced as he burned his fingertips, the top of the vial still too hot to hold.

  The liquid cooled and Fern waited a moment before he poured a small quantity onto his fingertips. Hurrah! He was now the proud producer of a low-grade pain relief potion. His joy was not meant to last however. His father had returned early.

  The man swung open the door with a scowl and an aura of drunken menace. Something was wrong, as always. A quick look at the room and Fern's father gained a trace of lucidity as he scowled. "Worthless fucking boy, you playing with them potions again. Why don't you go learn some real work like a fucking man."

  Fern didn't bother to respond. There was nothing he could say. He started to pack up his supplies, regretting not having them hidden away already.

  His father had different ideas. "You ignoring me boy? Think you too good for your father now? Just because you don't drink you think you superior. Just you watch. You're going to be just like me when you grow up."

  Under his breath Fern whispered, "No. Never".

  "What's that boy?" Ferns father slurred and walked forward. Fern was facing away trying to put the last of his alchemy items into a crate. His father though, felt it proper to beat a lesson into him. A loud smack started. "You do think you better. I'll show you that you ain't."

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  Fern fell forward and smacked into the ground, his head stinging and his thoughts interrupted. He sucked in a breath as his father stomped on his ribs, and groaned as the larger man stood atop him.

  "Well what's in this box? Oh a glass vial. Ah shit, nice color," his father said as he emptied the vial by pouring its contents all over fern's head. The stinging ache on his head went away, but he still felt angry. Bitter. That was his work. He made it. And now it was wasted. Then he felt his father's weight shift, followed by a loud shatter as his vial broke against the wall across the small room.

  "Woops, musta slipped. Now, let's warm up the house. You don't move." His father stated before he picked up the crate of alchemy craft ingredients, and tossed it into the fire place. His father snapped his fingers, and the fireplace lit, filling the room with florid colors and terrible vapors.

  Fern cried out and tried to stand, but his father quickly pivoted into a kick aimed straight at his ribs, and Fern curled up. His father had an essence core. He wasn't very high level, but even a human at level 15 was easily twice as strong and twice as tough.

  "So boy, you ready to do some real work? I want you to come with me tomorrow. Maybe we'll finally make a man out of you".

  Fern felt his inner rage ignite for a moment. "No. No. Fuck you. You think you can… You think." He tried to speak out, but he started to quail in fear as his father's face darkened.

  "Boy, if you don't want to fucking work, then you can fuckin' leave." Fern found himself being grabbed by the back of his burlap shirt, and his father picked him up and manhandled him outside the door.

  "Boy, you better not come back. If you do, I'm not going to go easy on you. Now maybe you can stop haunting me and go become a man on your own. If you don't want to do it my way, you can do it your way. Now fuck off."

  Fern lay there for a moment. Five feet from the door of the house he'd lived in for less than a year, one of his feet stuck into the broken sewer ditch covering, his burning ribs soaking the cold in from the cobblestone road.

  Faint tears stained his cheeks. Not because he was sad to leave his father, but because he had a father he wasn't sad to leave. Also, the worry. He had nothing. A shirt, pants, undergarments, and a pair of shit-stained shoes. Penniless in the poorest part of a small town, with Winter fast approaching. Nowhere to eat. Nowhere to sleep. The son of an unpopular man.

  After the grief had a moment to settle, Fern reached for one sign of positivity. He was already at rock bottom. At least things could only get better from here.